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Zazah Clemens, the Late-Night-Guardian on the (Pussy/Whole)---from the Cinematic Book

If that Unloved Man Who's Stuck in the Puffiness of Hell is Fuming with Peeve---this is not misogyny in reverse or that weak and sappy love letter from Romeo, although his note about her calling is ideal---where I've found the A in her All when the fornication of her Vee is turned into what First start Above---is how we'll Art into Heaven: Satan's fire Uncreatively burn down. And by the Creativity of her Clitoris her Cunt everything with Soul---even those Luciferian Feminist at times fail to reasonably draw---in Wrongly Characterizing the worst aspect of that Mad and Headless man: the close shave ) Pussy/Hole ( Lesbian believe in a sharp as scissor hell---in cutting off his bawling planet so only the (Pussy/Whole) can live: this is just as infinitely Assynying when the world says god is a man, where without first the holiness of her Pussyfying birth no prophet and saviour could live---) just as all of the absolute nothing and dead (---if in the Non-Exist realm where it would be exclusively woman or man: where by the Entire Community of her lovely entrance in Co-existence in the midst of the (Cradling Womb)---is by the Ovary of her endless reaching through the Universe---in her guiding All and Anything to God: Our Pussiest Truth. The purest (Pussy/Whole) of this truly Pretty calling, know to miraculously foster her strongest root---into where he rountinely grills as to bring Up manKind out the inflame hole---even if the remarkably Cute extention of her Universal-Umbilical-Cord: were to burn down, in her attempts to Flowering up this Everlasting-Eco-System, when She Bring Up Our Every Fuck: back into the Eden of a Curseless heaven we seed-Up-Into---to live. To all those who believe in the deepest fart, drench in the diuretic home of sin---where the lowest senselessness of his Horn hold on the bawling inversion of his fiery fork's insanity---only the nurture from Up Above can do in the heavenly erection of the (Pussy/Whole) that bring Anything and Everything to life: no matter how sadistically tough he his---when clutching the pitch-fork of his balls in believing god is a man. I know, but I don't know---the whys and why not; the where from and for---what; what I do know in the highest Mount the Giglio man does from the floor of his shoulder, in holding up her Carmel Womb: is ALL we need to know at this time to Evolve. What we were incorrectly taught in man looking up to MAN is backward: for how man cannot draw itself from the natural deepness of his fire that burns the spirit that otherwise can---by the softest reason Heaven is in the logic of her Airy Space: the evaporation of her fluid does in First Shaping the Soul into Life---which then the construction of his fiery mold does with the flesh of our mortal form---the Immortal creation of her (Pussy/Whole) does In/Eternally. Even the Kalevala kept its head down---despite the Nesting Egg of the Overlooking Hen of it All: in what the (Whole-Womb-Hole)---Only the Yolk of the Uterus can First Hatch into Life---before we're, to ever have, the lovely Poem of Virgin Marie or the Odyssey of his Warring Sins: She Can Only Multiply---into multiples of a countless multiplication---to an endless number, surpassing infinity, by the incalculable birth of the Initial Womb. Despite that Mystically Stiff Ragga Muffin---who's too Ayahuasca in a unholy smoke, to see how spiritually sleepy he is---as to wake himself up, beyond the Singular ideas of mortality: risk getting its Dreads Cutt off, from the Jah of the Immortal Womb---the Plural Sense of its Anything and Everything the (Pussy/Whole) creates with holiness: from Alien to out-of-bounds Frog, or the Spiritually Slow Turtle---who's merely crawling towards the Ultimate Adoration of the Womb---that's yet to reach the truth in the all in All: the (Whole-Womb-Hole) Anything and Everything with absolute divinity through Gonaive: God Is Not A Man---neither a Woman, but: both Reason and Logic---in the all and All of things, the (Whole-Womb-Hole) is---in its first to Creation. When I stood guard throughout the heavenly work, in her Loving Up midnight: I always knew how Clever it is, the Sweet Metaphor of her Sexuality---by first the Lovely stupid in all sorts of soft skin, she dethroning any so call evil with a slurping paint brush, her fresco tongue drawing out the kind soul. As I take a noble stance with my love to kill with this needed message, to the sexual provision of her Gluteus Maximus in her Well-Shape-Crest---don't think of the moShiach return that use the buried stone of the earth's construction to build in the physical world---that she does with the construction of the spirit with newborn where ALL is forever: his fire stays low---while the smoke of her lovely perfume elevates High; God isn't a creation like humans' but rather like the very near Creator in her (Whole-Womb-Hole). If I can tell man anything wise---take Angela and ride into her sunset and never look back, for how problematic the darkness of hell---where there's no (Pussy/Whole) in sight, to quench the miserable degrees of an aching fire: where he's left with the safe of the comforting womb---in the life saving locksmith of her sliding keyhole, that can only turn the lock of the ) Iron Will ( which is exactly the meaning; in that Painters' Well Known Divide---man is trying to join, through the finger tips of the Ultimate Union: that's not unlike the star that forget---to Look Up toward the Galaxy---that hover Over the star, the tickling soul of the (Pussy/Whole)---Angelo should have first drawn in the highest bud of Eve---reaching toward Adam to show how creation first began: in the (Whole-Womb-Hole) that can only put forth man and families---the spiritually lacking asshole, could never first do. I'm adored by the chlamydia like calamity I've realize, only aids the nutrition of the soul's growth toward wisdom---when it come to the soft kittens my Saint Bernard dog-to-death with the clinching teeth of my protection: I'm thoroughly modified by the ragging-barbie-doll consumption I distastefully chew on, for a greater type of cupidless reason---through a trial and wonder that lives pass the deficient lessons frail souls are regularly program to. I seem closer to a complicated state, far above the average space of man, that deal with the usual---creatively lacking men of the lowest earth are imprisoned by; escaping the ghastly sacrifice of the Zeta's dark: I hovered above the thundering rail that electri-fry even saints, where I learned about the Holy Secret---that is originally divine before man had a rib to give---for how She Bore It First. I enigmatically eclipse such barren normalcy in my unusually dynamic entrance and exit in the world's room---I survey from start to finish, as I guide the lust Ants and Bees equally require to live: upon the foundation she forces from the many types of her (Endless Womb). I'm always present as the profound cause, her perfectly distorted enlightenment drivel---as this un-definitive-mural, that plant and pick the moments she Maxi-Pad. Freshly risen from the Twisted-Helter-Skelter within the grilling background of the Eternally-Burning-Skin---which bake sin into the firm buttock she then purely birth: she's still to be seen by this entire world, the way her scattered glow in breaking every galactic pitch with the glare of her alluring pantyhoe---When Looking Up Her Slit Forever. As a Guardian of this blissful royalty---this is how far up my Demigod status on the stripper's podium, for all to see and know---not to harm this sparkling divine: if he attempt to dethrone the glory of her High-Heel. My treacherous notoriety during the dark, to the Slut-Seeking-Public, prevent Psychos and AM Vampires' from getting out of line. And while ever, in the location of this Near-To-Spiritualism within this Virginal Hymen: my Horn-From-Head appearance, is sharp as the creator of sin---in keeping down those who rock the cradle and don't pay; I'm the producer of the Bias we think we should morally hate but hopelessly love at dark. By the Ultimate Power of Love Invested in Me: the Bank Account of my Federal Reserve is Endowed with all the Commas of a Billion Multi-Millionaires, while the Trillion-Dollar Check Paid to my Name that's equal to the sweet Receipt of the U.S. Treasury. My Pimping beauty as her protective beast---ensure the Highest Light, her Interceding Enlightenment allow to see: I'm Un-conquering---by giving back her Stolen Holy Jewels; the nerve of man who un-holy without reflection.